


memento vivere (remember to live)

by houfukuseisaku



Category: Cookie Run (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Coming Up With Human Names For Cookies Is... Difficulte™, Drama, Gen, Gods and Monsters, Pistachio is Arguably the Overarching Protagonist but Other Cookies Have Their Own Stories As Well, Secrets and Conspiracies, Semi Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houfukuseisaku/pseuds/houfukuseisaku
Summary: Oven City may look like a peaceful place to any outsider, but its inhabitants know that its underworld runs rampant with various gangs and factions vying for control. When their power struggles threaten to spill over and affect the civilians' lives, there's only one thing anyone can do:Remember to live.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Champagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For now, his relationship with Chika as it is, whatever it counts as—it’s enough.

Being the owner of a rather famous, upscale bar lends itself to quite a few advantages, not the least being the copious amounts of gossip pouring from loose lips like how alcohol pours from bottles, the collective chattering of a flock of birds eager to sing their songs.

Nobody knows that better than Spark, who listens to the whims and woes of his varied customers with naught but an unjudging smile—perpetually wiping clean that shining wineglass.

Of course, such usefulness of a position like that doesn’t go unnoticed. And with such a luxurious bar, there’s bound to be plenty of undesirables ending up on its doorstep or worse, breaking out in fights inside.

There’s a reason why, despite having no visible security, Sparkling Party remains pristine, virtually untouched by rowdy troublemakers that would otherwise be attracted to its gilded golden wares.

A pouch heavy with coins, gold and silver, big and small, exchanges between hands, jangling as it does so. Spark watches with a smooth smile as his favourite patron hefts the bag up and down, as if judging its weight. They’ve performed this transaction many times before, but he understands the need to make sure.

At last, satisfied, Chika hums as she tucks the pouch away into her purse, rings click-clacking against each other on her delicate fingers. “Business booming as usual, hm?” She coos, tapping a steady rhythm on the bar’s surface. “Excellent work, darling.”

“Oh, you flatter me.” Hiding a chuckle behind his hand, Spark coquettishly bats his eyelashes, pleased when that teases a laugh out of Chika. “How’s your father?”

“So-so. The old man tried to cut my cards last week. Bought a few new handbags as revenge.” Chika hums again, a little louder this time; Spark knows a touched nerve when he sees one and decides to drop the subject. Though hearing about the volatile relationship between spendthrift daughter and miserly father amuses him to no end, especially when said daughter comes to talk his ear off with petty complaints, it’s not something to risk his rapport with Chika over.

“What about you? Got any birds singing pretty songs, lately?”

“A few here and there. Nothing big, though.” Spark purses his lips, brows furrowing. “Actually… a raven came in the other day. No cawing, though, not even as much as a peep. Still,” shooting an unamused glance at Chika, Spark sighs, “the whole purpose of our partnership is to keep those kinds of birds out of my bar, and yet.”

Huffing in annoyance, Chika plants both elbows on the countertop, squishing her cheeks together with her hands. “There’s only so much we can do, darling. But if it’ll give you some peace of mind, I’ll be sure to send Masa next time.”

Spark groans, picturing the weight-lifting enthusiast standing by Sparkling Party’s entryway like some burly bouncer. Putting him on guard duty is bound to scare away the more cowardly customers… but he supposes it’s a fair price to pay for the bar’s ensured safety.

“It’s a deal.” He holds out his hand for Chika to shake, which she does while giving him her sweetest smile. Spark returns it with a grin of his own. Then, glancing at his wristwatch, he tilts his head to the side. “It’s running rather late, isn’t it? Am I the last stop for today?”

Chika nods. “Indeed. I always choose to end my collection runs here. You should know this by now,” and here her voice takes on a coy, flirty lilt, “darling. But you are right, I must be off. Ta-ta!”

Spark feels a flush rise out from the collar of his shirt, grateful that Chika doesn’t spare him even a single glance over her shoulder as she leaves. Besides cold hard cash, they also often trade playful banter like this, but he never knows whether she’s just teasing him or not.

Honestly, he doesn’t know how he feels about Chika. If he sees her as a friend, or maybe something else… and if it’s something she’ll reciprocate, or if they’re nothing more than business partners in her eyes.

Either way, it’s not something he’ll act on anytime soon. Though Sparkling Party pays its dues to the Cream Family in return for protection, he’s not sure he wants to get his precious bar involved with the shadier dealings of mafia life.

For now, his relationship with Chika as it is, whatever it counts as—it’s enough.

“See you later.” He mutters to empty air, once again wiping clean his shining wineglass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced this chapter:
> 
>   * Chika = Cheesecake Cookie
>   * Spark = Sparkling Cookie
> 



	2. Candied Pistachio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I would like to discuss an important matter with you, Second Chairman of the Forest._

By now, everyone knows how the story goes.

There was once a great and powerful faction that rivalled even the fearsome Dragons in supremacy over Oven City. Lead by a man who seemed to be immortal, never-aging, never changing, the Millennium Deity. The districts under their guardianship flourished and prospered in peace, so long as they remembered to pay their respects and their dues to the Forest and its benevolent grace.

But all that swiftly changed, one day, when the First Lieutenant of the Forest betrayed its leader, having struck some sort of deal with an unknown benefactor. Nobody quite knows what happened, but soon after the Forest crumbled without someone to guide their way, remnants of their power and forces quickly gobbled up and absorbed by the Dragons, bloating their numbers even further.

How could a long-lived legacy be demolished in a single moment, with a single bullet? Why had the First Lieutenant done such a thing? Questions like that swept through Oven City, particularly its underworld. And especially the Dragons. All too soon they wiped their hands clean of the matter, however, too busy dealing with infighting and territory disputes to pay heed to their once-rivals.

But the city never forgets.

Even now, rumour has it that if you need anyone to disappear, be disposed of without much commotion, the former First Lieutenant is the one you go to. The same can be said for the organization he now works for, the Night Witches, but it is he who specializes in assassination, taking out his targets with a single bullet.

Just like how he killed the one he swore to protect.

* * *

Chio sighs, having just finished the paperwork on her desk. Leaning back in her chair, she drums her fingertips on her thighs, itching to get up and out of the stuffy office. Nobody told her that leading the Forest meant mostly being a pencil-pusher.

Nobody told her that she would be the Second Chairman, either. In all fairness, nobody thought that the First Chairman would die, or could even die in the first place. He had earned his title as the Millennium Deity for a reason.

And yet, here Chio is. Suddenly the head of an all-but-dead mafia family, with not even a First Lieutenant of her own to aid her.

“Damn you, Zephyr…”

She shakes her head, trying to rid her mind of the image of the traitor-kinslayer. It is hard to forget. He was the one she looked up to, he was one of the reasons she swore into the family in the first place, the ideal of a loyal guardian she aspired to be.

Chio doesn’t know what to think of him now. She knows she hates him with a burning passion, but there’s an underlying current of fear there as well. What could have caused him to turn against the Forest so easily? What sort of deal had the Enchantress made with him?

And will she come for Chio as well?

Chio stands from her seat, stretching her limbs and straightening out the crick in her neck. It’s not like she can do much in this situation besides watch and wait. The number of people left in the family is frighteningly low, and maybe only a handful of them she can really trust.

Zephyr was one of them.

Biting back another curse, she strides out of the office, careful to lock the door behind her. Most of the Forest’s territory had been taken over by the Dragons, and later by the various factions that formed after the Dragons themselves fractured and broke apart. Now the Forest’s only stronghold is its headquarters, a humble house out in the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of Oven City.

Her house, to be exact.

Someone knocks on the door. Chio lifts an eyebrow, making her way to the entryway. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, suddenly unsure.

“Who is it?”

“Candy!”

A sigh of relief leaves Chio’s lips. Opening the door, she greets her friend with a hug, relishing in the sweet sugary scent of her shampoo.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Candy.” Chio smiles, ushering her inside. “With everything that’s been going on lately, it’s nice to see a familiar face.”

“Really? Aw, I love you too, Chio.” Candy giggles, cheeks tinted pink. Chio laughs along, her own face warming red when Candy plants a kiss on her cheek. Some people would think of Candy’s affectionate nature as weird, but Chio knows it’s because her friend has a big heart that overflows with love.

“That being said, there’s a reason I came to visit. Here, this is for you.”

Patting the messenger bag resting against her hip, Candy reaches in and pulls out a glittering gold-lined envelope, holding it up between two fingers. Chio can’t help but stare at the gaudy letter, wondering who in the world would send her such a thing.

“Well?” Pressing the envelope into Chio’s hands, Candy settles her chin on Chio’s shoulder, eyes glittering with curiosity. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Chio hesitates. Though Candy’s a civilian, she knows about Chio’s connection to the Forest. Maybe not the particulars, but enough to know that her friend works a rather dangerous occupation. Still, they’ve never kept a secret from each other before; Chio doesn’t want to start now.

Steeling her nerves, she opens the letter and unfolds the paper within, scanning the delicate scrawl with wary eyes. It’s an invitation from Chika Cream, the daughter of the CEO of Cream Industries, requesting Chio’s presence at an upcoming party at her mansion.

And at the very end, she reads something that makes her blood run cold.

_I would like to discuss an important matter with you, Second Chairman of the Forest._

“She knows. How does she know?” Candy gasps, before something else occurs to her. “Wait… Second Chairman?! Chio, don’t tell me that you’re—"

To Candy’s flabbergasted look, Chio can only give a curt nod, her expression turning grim.

“Looks like I have a party to attend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced this chapter:
> 
>   * Chio = Pistachio Cookie
>   * Zephyr = Wind Archer Cookie
>   * Candy = Cotton Candy Cookie
> 



	3. Family, Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come, then.” Grabbing Zephyr by the arm, Loki half-guides half-drags him out the door, impatient. “The lady has requested our presence; she is waiting for us in the observatory. I wonder what for. Hopefully not punishment for being late.”
> 
> **(content warning: implied murder, a bit of violence)**

He remembers the day, as clear as crystal.

* * *

“So, has it come to this?”

“It has.” Zephyr quietly confirms, an unfamiliar gun in his hands, its muzzle pressed right up against his target’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Chairman.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, my dear.” Soft laughter. Kind eyes. Everything about the Millennium Deity exudes generous grace, and here he is, about to take it all away with a single bullet. “Though, I would’ve thought that you’d take me out with your beloved rifle.”

“The Enchantress wishes to deliver her message in a more… personal manner. My Wind Arch can only deliver swift death from afar.”

“That is true. So, this revolver must be a gift from her. Does it have a name?” The Chairman’s eyes glitter with amusement. “I wish to at least know the name of the one I will lose my life to.”

Zephyr’s heart clenches with guilt. “It is called Night Raven. I’m sorry for not killing you with the gift you gave me.”

“Nonsense, dear. You apologize too much, for things beyond your control.” A delicate hand reaches up to caress Zephyr’s cheek, just as it had all those years ago. When the Forest wasn’t much more than a single tree, and the feared West Wind merely a light breeze. Before they became the Chairman and First Lieutenant that they are now. “But at least, grant me this one selfish request before you pull the trigger.”

“…I can make no promises.”

The Millennium Deity smiles, closing his eyes. “Say my name, Zephyr. It has been a long time since I’ve heard it. I’m beginning to think that everyone has forgotten. Everyone else—”

“—But me.” Zephyr sucks in a shuddering breath, hands starting to tremble where before they had held firm and steady the entire conversation. But he cannot falter now; he has made his choice. “As you wish… _Yggdrasil_.”

A single gunshot resounds throughout the room.

* * *

Deep in his thoughts, Zephyr doesn’t notice someone else entering his room until a crystalline claw threatens to pierce the soft skin of his throat.

“Useless.” The intruder huffs, grinning cruelly when Zephyr tenses up under their touch. “While you were busy daydreaming, I could’ve killed you twice over, weakling. You should stop dwelling on the past and open your eyes to the glorious future!”

“Leave me be, Loki.” Zephyr hisses, but he makes no make to push the other away. Loki’s prosthetic hand, a gift from the Matriarch of the Night Witches herself, isn’t so easily moved once its claws have sunken into something. As long as they don’t actually hurt him, he’ll tolerate their mocking caresses. “And I could say the same to you.”

_Bang!_ The breath is forced out of his lungs as Loki shoves him up against the wall, all traces of smugness replaced by cold fury. Coughing and gasping for air, Zephyr helplessly tries to escape from Loki’s grip, dark spots dancing in his vision as the claws only tighten their hold around his neck.

“I was promised the restoration of Sugarteara to its former glory, and I will see to it that she keeps her promise, even if it means killing her and taking her powers for myself!” Loki roars, digging their claws in until they start to draw blood. “Don’t talk as if we are in the same boat, you coward. I at least struck my deal with her on my own terms!”

Glaring at Zephyr as he continues to squirm in their grasp, Loki waits until he falls limp before they finally drop him to the floor, relishing in his groans of pain. Nudging Zephyr onto his back with their foot, they dig one heel into his chest before crouching down, once more patting his cheek with their clawed hand.

“But let’s not fight anymore, shall we?” Loki croons, eyes half-lidded. “We’re a family now, after all. The Enchantress won’t be pleased if we keep quarrelling like this… brother.”

Shivering, Zephyr nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Apparently satisfied by his submission, Loki lets up and lifts themself off Zephyr, leaning back against the wall as they watch him recover, slowly standing up on shaky feet.

“Come, then.” Grabbing Zephyr by the arm, Loki half-guides half-drags him out the door, impatient. “The lady has requested our presence; she is waiting for us in the observatory. I wonder what for. Hopefully not punishment for being late.”

“Same here.” Zephyr murmurs, wincing at the pain of saying even a few words. If this is what working with Loki will be like, he’s going to have a rough time indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced this chapter:
> 
>   * Yggdrasil = Millennial Tree Cookie
>   * Loki = Lobster Cookie
> 



	4. Frozen Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In lieu of an answer, Sephira simply clasps his hand in her own. The two of them hiss at the disparity in temperature, his warm skin feeling more like burning fire against her ice-cold palm.

The sound of waves breaking on a shore fills the air, an artificial noise playing softly from the wall-mounted sound system, quietly absorbed by the seafoam-white tapestries and carpets lining the floor and the walls of the room. In the middle of the room, a bed sits surrounded by medical equipment, and in it lies a sleeping man, his chest barely rising and falling with quiet breaths.

 _Beep-beep-beep,_ the heart monitor sings.

A hand brushes the hair away from his face, twisting the brown locks between gentle fingers.

“It’s gotten longer.” Someone murmurs, a woman’s voice. “Should I cut it? Perhaps not. You love your hair.”

Of course, the sleeping man does not answer. He is adrift in dreams.

Sephira sighs, caressing her comatose friend’s cheek. She recalls him doing the same to her, and to others—an affectionate gesture he used to show his trust. But he cannot do that now; she wonders if he can feel her touch in his slumber, or if the world beyond his mind does not exist to him as he is now.

Waves fade out slightly to make way for the sound of the doorbell’s ring, _ding-dong_. Rising from her seat, Sephira makes her way to the entrance, opening the door without a second thought.

Not many know of this place; fewer still know that it is her who lives here, on the top floor of Wave Tower, the city’s lone skyscraper. Only one person would visit.

“Hello, Fotia.”

“Hey.” Her brother listlessly returns her greeting without bothering to meet her eyes, brusquely shouldering his way past her. “…How is he?”

“Still asleep.” She doesn’t mind his blunt attitude, knowing that the rift between them has yet to mend; despite his insistence otherwise, Sephira believes that she and Fotia can return to being on good terms one day.

“Show me.” Fotia grumbles, walking a step behind Sephira as she leads him where he wants to go. Once inside, he eyes the comatose Yggdrasil with a tight-lipped frown, jaw working like he’s chewing on the words before he can spit them out. “Better wake up soon, old man. Word on the street is that someone’s trying to bring the Forest back to life.”

Humming, Sephira moves to sit in the sofa in the corner of the room, patting the seat beside her. After a moment of reluctance, Fotia plops down next to her with an exaggerated sigh, dangling one leg over the other.

“Has Zephyr taken the title of Second Chairman? He did not strike me as the type to do so.” Sephira asks, her tone of voice thoughtful. Fotia replies with a scoff and a roll of his eyes.

“Gotta keep up with the news, sis. No, it’s not Zephyr, the bastard’s been working with the Night Witches for a while now. It’s one of Yggy’s lesser underlings, I think; a girl called Chio.”

Nodding, Sephira takes care to commit the name to memory; when Yggdrasil wakes up, he’ll probably want to know who the successor of his legacy is. Then she takes a moment to pity the girl. The weight of a sworn family is a heavy burden to bear, especially since the Forest was a major powerhouse among the underworld factions.

Fotia takes his sister’s silence as a sign to continue. “There’s a buncha new groups popping up, too, thanks to the power vacuum. Been hearing the Cream name being thrown around a lot. Cream Industries is already a thing, so this makes me wonder if it’s just a front for money laundering or something.”

“Hm.”

“There’s also some troubling things I’ve heard about the Dragons, too.” Biting his lip, Fotia lolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Not enough concrete info to go on, but I’m worried…”

Talking about the Dragons always puts her brother on edge. Sephira hears the almost-imperceptible hitch in Fotia’s breathing, a sign that he’s holding back the helpless laughter that threatens to trickle out of him in times like these, a nervous tic that he can’t ever seem to get rid of. She decides to change the subject, even if it’s one that touches on a sore spot of her own.

“Let’s not dwell upon that, then. Have you… heard anything about Kaguya?”

Fotia gives her a look she can’t decipher, his expression caught somewhere between sorrow and pity. Though her heart already knows the answer, it still pangs with hurt when he wordlessly shakes his head.

“But I’ll keep looking.” Fotia reassures her, hands clenching into fists. “I _promise_ , we’ll find her someday.”

“Thank you.” Sephira tries to smile, though she knows it must look pained to Fotia; her brother can always see through her pretenses, try as she might to keep them up. She’s resigned herself to the possibility that she may never meet Kaguya again, as much as it hurts to think about.

Perhaps it’s for the best, all things considering.

“Well, I think that’s enough depressing talk. Shall we have some snacks?”

Clapping her hands, Sephira rises to her feet, making her way to the dining room. A half-empty mug sits on the table, already tepid; she fills another one with tea from the still-hot kettle, wisps of steam rising from its surface. She lets out a soft laugh when Fotia impatiently takes a sip and scalds his tongue, clicking her tongue in fond exasperation when he continues to drink without waiting for it to cool down.

There’s a faraway look gleaming in Fotia’s eyes when he picks up a gingerbread cookie, pinching off its head to munch on first. “We used to love having tea parties like this, didn’t we? You, me, and the others. Back when we were younger.”

Sephira nods, looking back fondly on those childhood memories. Those halcyon days, when they didn’t have to concern themselves with the struggles of leadership, before Oven City’s seedy underbelly grew greedy for power and money.

Before the Enchantress severed her ties to them, chasing after an unknown ambition.

Before Kaguya disappeared.

Without her noticing it, a few tears make their escape, streaking down her cheek to fall into the tea below, mixing salty with bittersweet. Sephira jolts when a hand comes close to her face; she looks up just in time to see Fotia pull his arm back, his expression twisted with guilt.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He whispers, a rare display of genuine remorse. “Don’t cry, sis. You know I hate it when you cry.”

Sephira lets out a blubbering giggle, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. “Why, because you don’t want to get snot on your shirt?” After taking a calming breath, she cheekily gestures at his outfit. “It’s rare to see you out of your usual flashy orange attire, _Lord of Flame_.”

“Shut up.” Fotia groans, embarrassed by the nickname, though he’s inwardly glad that she still has enough cheer to crack a joke, despite her prior melancholy. “It’s not by choice, trust me. But there’s this little punk who wouldn’t stop following me around, so I had to get creative and disguise myself before I came here.”

“Ah, I see…” Trailing off, Sephira gets a mischievous look in her eye, filling Fotia with dread. “To be fair, these colours do suit you as well. Guess I’ll have to call you _Lord of Ash_ , then!”

She laughs when he threatens to eat all her cookies, and the two of them settle into trading banter in between sips of tea, taking their time to catch up and reminisce on incidental matters and trivial details of their daily lives. Only when the kettle empties does the pleasant mood dip back down into solemn silence.

“Sephira.” Fotia says, serious. Sephira closes her eyes, knowing that there’s only one reason why her brother would call her by her name. “I don’t know when or if Yggy’s ever gonna get better, but… what about you?” Slowly, he holds out an upturned palm, desperation in his eyes. “Are you still—?”

In lieu of an answer, Sephira simply clasps his hand in her own. The two of them hiss at the disparity in temperature, his warm skin feeling more like burning fire against her ice-cold palm.

“I still can’t move around too much.” Sephira admits, pulling her arm back to hang limply by her side. “Some days, I can barely move at all. My limbs feel… frozen. Down to the bone.”

“Can’t you at least call Dr. Wasabi? If anyone, she can probably come up with a cure!”

Shaking her head, Sephira makes sure to look Fotia in the eye, lips pursed in a thin line.

“You know that I can’t let just anyone see me, Fotia le Fay.” She drops her gaze to her empty mug, fingers curled tightly around its handle. Fotia flinches at the mention of his full name. “On paper, Sephira le Fay is legally _dead_ , and if word gets out that I’m still alive…”

“Yeah, yeah. Understood.” Fotia lets out a defeated sigh, knowing that what his sister says is true. “Morgana’s already a huge pain as she is right now, if she finds out that you’ve been hiding here, practically right under her nose—ah, I don’t even wanna think about it! Well,” pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, he waves her goodbye as he leaves, “take care, kay? See you later.”

“I will, and same goes to you. Until next time.”

Just as she’s about to close the door, Sephira spots something fluttering on a nearby rooftop, but after a blink, it disappears.

“Oh. I guess it must be a bird that flew away.”

With that, the door clicks shut, various automatic locks whirring as they once again isolate the two inhabitants of the floor from the rest of the world.

* * *

On a nearby rooftop, a bird gathers their feathers around themself, musing on the surprising things that they’ve seen.

“What a secret! I wonder who else knows about this…”

Rubbing their chin in contemplation, the Phantom Raven eventually shrugs and files the question away to be thought upon later. Currently, they have a party to attend, one that they aren’t invited to. They’ll be sure to make a grand entrance as revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced in this chapter:
> 
>   * Sephira le Fay = Sea Fairy Cookie
>   * Fotia le Fay = Fire Spirit Cookie
> 



	5. Family, Old and New -Another-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps most surprising of all is earning the sworn fealty of Yggdrasil’s trusted right-hand man.
> 
> Perhaps more surprising than even that is how easily Yggdrasil falls to a single bullet.
> 
> **(content warning: implied/referenced child abuse)**

_(This is the story of a fairytale unknown to anyone.)_

* * *

Morgana le Fay is not a bitter woman.

When she takes human form to marry the Great Ashen Tree, she does not grieve the loss of her power as the once-indomitable Darkness. She does not mind becoming Yggdrasil’s shadow, a Queen only in name playing housewife to a revered King. Her husband wants children she cannot bear with her barren womb, so she does the only thing she knows to do and steals a son and a daughter for him. She calls them orphans, and technically they are, orphaned by her hands.

When she is told that her ambition has grown too frightening, that she is no longer welcome in her husband’s realm, she does not weep. Once officially divorced, she leaves in grace. Let her fool beloved think what he wants, that she has given in or some other nonsense; she knows the truth.

Yggdrasil fears her power, her return to greatness. A god-now-human who wants to return to godhood. He does not see the irony, the hypocrisy in his own actions; a god-now-human still clinging onto the pretense of godhood, the Millennium Deity tending to his precious Forest. A gardener smiling with pride at his loyal flowers and ruthlessly uprooting the heretic weeds.

She, at least, is not so opaque as to her true intentions. Power is power is _power_ , and though she may never have worshippers like he does, she will have servants ready to do as she commands, eager to become part of the perfect utopia that she will create from the ashes of her conquest.

People have long forgotten that this world was built on Magic and Dreams; they believe only in science and fact and things that can be seen and thus proven to exist.

She will not fall to the same delusion. There remain Treasures in the world that bear Magic within them, uninherited legacies of the era of myriad gods. For the sake of her ambition—to make her Dream come true—she must find them, damn everything else and the consequences thereof.

She has already razed one country to the ground, the land of the Sacred Pomegranate Tree, in her quest for power; why not a few more?

To regain the godhood that she had sacrificed for a love that she never truly received…

Morgana le Fay is not a bitter woman.

The Dark Enchantress, however, _is_.

* * *

Still, she has her nostalgia. Being a human for so long can leave even gods vulnerable to human thoughts.

Morgana loves her children, or at least she believes she does. When she left, Yggdrasil allowed her to take them with her, hoping in vain that their presence will soften her heart. He is right, in a way, but also _so completely wrong_.

She loves her children, her daughter Sephira and her son Fotia, but she knows that they are not strong enough to survive in the world she wants to create. They are but mere humans, mortal blood whose parents she had killed to take them as her own.

She needs them to become gods before she can accept them. Who can blame her for trying? To sculpt them into a shape befitting their status as children of the gods, so that they may one day inherit her legacy and her name. Is that not a mother’s love, a mother’s pride?

Sephira she sends to the underwater city of Sugarteara; Fotia, to the Dragon’s Valley. She wants them to learn the Magic of the freezing sea and searing flames, become the humans-turned-gods of Ice and Fire. She wants them to bring both Sugarteara and the Dragon’s Valley under her dominion. She wants them to have _power_.

Is it her fault, then, that they are weak? Too weak to even meet her demands, her expectations? Too human?

Sugarteara falls, and Sephira falls with it, lost to the darkness of the ocean. Morgana mourns her death, but not her memory; her daughter has failed her, and she will not tolerate failure. Let her soul turn to seafoam, for all she cares.

The Valley burns, and Fotia burns with it, carrying the Dragon’s Bead as proof of his victory. Whether through favour hard-won or a bargain cheated, Morgana does not care; she is proud of him either way. But then he disappears.

And once again, Morgana is left alone.

* * *

She learns not to trust anyone but herself. No, not even to the Witch whom she pledges her alliance to, whom she draws her Magic from.

_(When she begged the Witch for someone, anyone, so that she needn’t be alone anymore, the Witch had given her a mockery of a sister in return. Morgause le Fay is more Tree-green than Dark-black. More amusement than ambition. More laughter than lies.)_

_(Still, she_ is _a sister, even if a mockery of a sister. Morgause isn’t one to be trusted, but she can certainly be… useful. Her unhinged giggling makes for a_ very _good intimidation tactic, Morgana quickly learns.)_

Morgana learns not to make allies—but instead make deals with acquaintances. A lofty promise in exchange for loyal partnership. Her first servant fills in the void of her children; Persephone, a survivor of the Pomegranate Tree’s destruction, a young priestess so willing and ready to carry out her will.

And she even has a Treasure in her possession, a mysterious mirror that shines with a haunted light, even in complete darkness. How serendipitous.

Those who come after Persephone, Morgana doesn’t trust as much. Most of them are selfish and greedy, working towards their own goals, only cooperating with her out of convenience. In a way, it’s good. She trusts that she cannot trust them, takes that as undeniable fact and formulates her plans around that.

Perhaps most surprising of all is earning the sworn fealty of Yggdrasil’s trusted right-hand man.

Perhaps more surprising than even that is how easily Yggdrasil falls to a single bullet.

There’s treachery afoot, surely. A god in human skin cannot die just like _that_. For now, Morgana will let the others believe that she thinks her ex-husband has been defeated. Let her pretend to revel in an easy victory.

Yggdrasil isn’t dead. And if Zephyr thinks he can trick her into accepting that as truth…

Well, there aren’t very many things that Morgana can accept.

 _This_ certainly isn’t one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced in this chapter:
> 
>   * Morgana le Fay = Dark Enchantress Cookie
>   * Morgause le Fay = Matcha Cookie
>   * Persephone = Pomegranate Cookie
> 



	6. Friends of the Forge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look out the window—the sun just passing its zenith—reminds them both of the hour.

Sounds of metal on metal fill the smithy, _bang-bang-bang_. A sword is held up to the light, inspected for any imperfections, none found.

Satisfied, Ava gently sets the blade down on her workshop table. All it needs is a good polishing and it will look brand new again. Though, one thing would never rust or lose its shine: the blood-red stone set into the sword’s hilt.

It has a name, but her friend insists that saying it aloud would only bring misfortune to the speaker. So, Ava with all her boundless wisdom and wit, had bestowed upon it the name Strawberry Jam the first time she laid her hands on it. Nothing like a cutesy name to defang the infamy of a cursed sword.

* * *

_(“Haha, geddit? Strawberry GEM!” Ava boomed with laughter, smacking her thigh. He never deigned to reply to any of her puns, but the slight twitch of his lips conveyed his amusement nonetheless, even if faint.)_

* * *

“Can probably get it back to you tomorrow, early morning at best.” Scratching the back of her head, the weaponsmith sighs. “It was banged up pretty badly when you brought it in. Big fight or what?”

“Something like that.” Arthur grunts, looking away. “Not stronger, but… _more_. They’re increasing in numbers. I’m worried. Something’s going to happen. Soon.”

Ava nods. Though she might not have whatever Magic spirit-sight her friend has, the changes taking place are hard to miss. More and more people are disappearing each day, turning up in random places with no recollection of where they’ve been. Logical people would say they’ve been kidnapped and drugged or stuff like that.

She’s never been one for logic. And she’s known Arthur since they were very young, along with their other mutual solitary friend; if he says the cause is something supernatural, then it must be true.

“I don’t know why she’s doing this.” Arthur lifts a hand to his face, tracing the scar tissue running across his eyelid, down his cheek. “Was my home not _enough?_ I lost… so much, and now she wants more.”

It’s rare to see him like this, sad and vulnerable. An heir to a destroyed kingdom, a young prince who had his idealistic heroism wrenched out of him along with an eye. Ava reaches over to squeeze him in a hug. He stammers a bit, obviously flustered, but doesn’t push her away.

Not that he can. They both know who’s the stronger one here, physically and mentally.

“Don’t let it get to you too much, Artie.” Ava reassures once she’s pulled back, beaming at him with that grin of hers, soft and warm. “I’m here! And there’s a bunch of others who got your back too, yeah? Don’t forget that.”

Arthur laughs, quiet but sincere. “How can I, when you keep reminding me? Thank you, Ava.”

“No biggie.” A look out the window—the sun just passing its zenith—reminds them both of the hour. “Eh, you get going now! Don’t wanna miss teatime with the little sweethearts.”

A fond smile curls on his lip. “Suppose not. The princess will have my head, and if not her then her knight surely will. Early morning, tomorrow?”

“I’ll do my best!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced this chapter:
> 
>   * Ava = Avocado Cookie
>   * Arthur = Dark Choco Cookie
> 



	7. Bright Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door to the bedroom squeaks open, watery green eyes peeking out.
> 
> “Mister Kim?” She whimpers, scared. “I had a nightmare…”

As the day winds down to a close, the children start to tire, movements slowing and yawns escaping mouths. Despite half-hearted protests, the orphanage caretaker eventually manages to get them all tucked into bed, bidding them all goodnight with a kiss pressed to each of their foreheads.

“Sleep well, my stars.” Yoo-mi sing-songs, switching off the light and pulling the door soundlessly shut. Then, turning to their guests, they bend down in a slight bow. “Thank you very much, once again. They always love it when you come and visit.”

“No worries, Yoo-mi.” Brian laughs, wiping his brow. “Whew. I forget how much energy those kids have, I’m pooped!”

Behind him, Skyler lets out a wheeze of agreement, one arm slung around the back of the wooden chair he’s seated in. Next to him, Sherry nods, fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, too tired to even say a word.

Yoo-mi giggles. “I remember you four were much the same, weren’t you? Back when—”

“Well, adults don’t get much time to spend running around and playing.” With a snort of amusement, Bridget thumbs the rim of the teacup in her hands, staring into the amber liquid within. “Children don’t stay children for long.”

“Boo-hoo, don’t be so gloomy.” Pouting, Brian gives his sister a playful punch on the shoulder. “You like being here, spending time with them! You just won’t admit it.”

A slight smile curls at the edge of her lips. “Maybe so.” She sighs. “Still, we have to get up early tomorrow. Better get back, get some rest. If Professor Cream gets mad at us for being late, I’m going to pin all the blame on you.”

“Ah, shit!” Jumping to his feet, Skyler tugs his cap back onto his head, looking panicked. “I haven’t finished the assignment she gave me yet!”

Sherry’s eyes widen. “M-me neither…!”

“I knew I was forgetting something!” Brian yelps, downing his cup of tea as quickly as he can. “Sorry, Yoo-mi, but we gotta go. We’ll see you again next week?”

“Next week.” Yoo-mi affirms, waving them goodbye as they rush out the door.

Bridget, however, stays put, even when her brother pokes his head back in and asks her what’s wrong. “Unlike you, I already did my homework. You guys go on ahead,” she says, brushing him off, “I’ll walk home later. Just wanna have a little chat with Yoo-mi first.”

“Uh, sure. Call me if you need anything. Later!”

With just the two of them left in the kitchen, an awkward lull fills the air. Yoo-mi keeps their expression serene, maybe a little bit confused. Bridget’s glare intensifies, her eyes narrowing to slits.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” She spits, breaking the tense silence. “I know what you _really_ are.”

“Hm?” Tilting their head in a way that turns their look accusatory, Yoo-mi hums. “And what might that be?”

“ _Dream-eater_.”

Yoo-mi stares at her, that rigid smile still frozen and unyielding. “What proof do you have?”

A shiver runs down her spine, but she pushes through, steeling her nerves. “I don’t know how the others haven’t noticed, but—you don’t change. You don’t _age_. Not even a bit. You look the same as you did _all those years ago_ , back when,” a lump forms in her throat; she swallows it down, continuing, “when you took us in after we were abandoned.”

Pride glitters in Yoo-mi’s eyes. “You were always such a bright child, my star.” They murmur, reaching up to pat Bridget’s cheek. Their hand feels unnaturally firm, smooth. Like that of a porcelain doll.

“The children—you’re eating their Dreams.” Bridget hisses, stepping out of Yoo-mi’s reach. “You monster!”

She expects denial, or even anger. Certainly not laughter, long and low and wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Suddenly the room feels off, like the orphanage is spinning around her. Like she’s become the only three-dimensional thing in a two-dimensional world.

“Oh, my darling star.” Yoo-mi coos, their pastel-coloured hair buoyed by some unseen wind. “So close, but still so far. It’s not your fault. The rumours call us Dream-eaters, but that’s just a misconception. We don’t consume Dreams, not really.”

That smile again, terrifying in its tranquility.

“We merely gain power from them. Power and Magic, because Dreams themselves are a sort of Magic, a truly special kind. And I am a kind Dream-eater, am I not? Perhaps one of the kindest there is. The children are happy, here. They only Dream of happy things. I promise.”

_(A vision of a familiar amusement park flashes in Bridget’s mind; at its heart, a merry-go-round eternally spins, surrounded by butterflies. She remembers playing there, with her brother, with her two best friends, under the flickering stars.)_

The artificial memory fades. She feels sick to her stomach.

“That was _you_ … that Dream I had, every night—that was because of you?!”

Yoo-mi has the gall to look confused. “You sound upset. Why? I built that Dream to be everything a child could ever want.”

It hurts, hearing those words. Bridget realizes that they don’t understand what they’ve done, what they’re doing right now to the children sleeping in the other room.

“No,” she brokenly whispers, heart torn between fury and pity, “ _no_ , it isn’t. That’s _your_ ideal Dream, Yoo-mi. I wanted,” her fingers clench into fists, shaking with unnamed emotions, “I had Dreams of my own, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even see them when I slept, because the only thing you allowed us to see was your own Dream…”

Yoo-mi’s face falls like lightning to the ground. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, my star—"

“Don’t!” Snapping her head up, Bridget glares at Yoo-mi, though the heat of it is diminished by the tears beading in the corners of her eyes. “ _Don’t_ call me that, please. I don’t want to hear it. It took me leaving this damn place before I even realized I could have Dreams of my own, that what _I_ wanted and what _you_ wanted weren’t the same thing.”

Taking in a shuddering breath, she furiously wipes the dampness from her cheeks, fixing Yoo-mi with a look of reproach.

“You have to let them see their own Dreams, Yoo-mi. You can’t force your memory of happiness on everyone.”

Yoo-mi looks down, contemplating her words. “But… sometimes, they remember unhappy things. I don’t want them to be sad. I hate it when they’re sad.”

“Sometimes,” with a sigh, Bridget kneels down so she can meet Yoo-mi eye-to-eye, “sometimes, people need to work through their sadness before they can be happy. You can’t suppress bad memories forever. It will only hurt worse when you remember them later.”

Yoo-mi’s eyes are wide. “Is that so…?” They breathe, clasping their hands together. “I’m not sure if I have any bad memories to speak of, but then again, you humans are strange creatures. You forget a lot, but you also remember a lot. We are far too different, humans and my kind.”

Bridget’s not sure if they fully understand the meaning of her words, but she hopes it’s enough to make them reconsider their actions.

“I have to go now, before it gets too dark out, but _please_ ,” patting Yoo-mi’s head, she gives them a sad, pleading smile, “think about what I said, okay?” After they nod, she makes her exit, leaving Yoo-mi standing alone in the middle of the kitchen, looking lost.

* * *

After some unknown amount of time, the door to the bedroom squeaks open, watery green eyes peeking out.

“Mister Kim?” She whimpers, scared. “I had a nightmare…”

Scooping her up in their arms, Yoo-mi presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “It’s alright, Eppie, it’s just a bad Dream… would you like some tea? There’s still some left over.”

Eppie sniffles, but manages a small grin. “Tea would be nice.” Her lower lip wobbles as she takes a seat. “I haven’t had a bad Dream in a long, _long_ time, so it really scared me.”

Pouring a cup of tea and sliding it over to her, Yoo-mi tilts their head. “Would you like to tell me about it? Trying to ignore bad memories forever isn’t good for you. Or so I’ve heard.”

Eppie lets out an astonished giggle. “You’ve _never_ asked any of us about our Dreams before!”

Yoo-mi smiles, a little bit sadly. “I’m sorry, my star. I didn’t realize I was being a bad caretaker, until a friend showed me where I went wrong.”

“It’s alright, Mister Kim. You’re still a very kind person!” Eppie hurriedly reassures, placing her hand, tiny in comparison, over theirs. “My Dream, huh. I think, I was remembering… the day you found me, at the train station…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced this chapter:
> 
>   * Kim Yoo-mi = Cream Unicorn Cookie
>   * Bridget = Gingerbright Cookie
>   * Brian = Gingerbrave Cookie
>   * Skyler = Skater Cookie
>   * Sherry = Strawberry Cookie
>   * Eppie = Apple Cookie 
> 



	8. Florist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Remove yourself from the chessboard and reveal to me the remaining pieces, or else I will burn the whole Forest down instead._

The city swells and constricts according to its moods and whims, rhythmic and arrhythmic alike in its predictable unpredictability. Like a living, beating heart, pumping lifeblood through its arteries and veins—streets and sewers. Does that make the lifeblood: people or money? Maybe both, maybe neither, maybe something else entirely.

Off-tangent. The point is, on that wavering border between city and countryside, there exists a safehouse in the form of a greenhouse, with its walls of glass and its insides regularly regulated, a hollow body kept at a temperature optimally maintained for the health of its organs and innards.

There is irony in glass walls equaling safe houses. No one’s laughing, though, just as nobody’s throwing any stones. Connected to the greenhouse is a cozy little shophouse, enough for a shopkeeper to comfortably live in and maybe a few customers to uncomfortably visit, if they don’t mind the cramped space.

Both glass-metal house and brick-mortar home are decorated with plenty of green, a proud indicator of the owner’s own green thumb. Flowers line the wallpaper, growing real and printed fake, yellow centers like bright eyes watching, waiting; silent sentinels keeping secrets and sunlight in chlorophyll smelling sugar-sweet.

* * *

The bell above the entryway dings once, accompanied by the squeaking open of a well-worn door. Florist-and-barista raises his eyes from a book of numbers; alleged ledgers and accounts to be accounted for away from prying eyes.

“Hello, Chairman.” Hubert greets politely, closing the bookkeeping-book shut with a gentle but firm hand. “It’s an honour to see you in person.”

“Not you too.” Chio groans, hands itching to rub her face in exasperation; it’s years of formal training and training in formality that steadies them by her sides, all business-like in stance if not in intention. “Hubert, there’s no need to call me _that_. You and I were both the same rank before this whole… mess, occurred.”

“Nevertheless, I insist on following decorum, Chairman; allow me this one courtesy at least. But _oh_ , pardon my rudeness! Please do take a seat.” Waving her over to the nearest chair, Hubert waits for her to settle down a bit before pouring her a cup of herbal tea—chamomile, to soothe her nerves in advance.

“You know,” Chio says, after a heavy moment of silence, “out of all of us division captains, I would have expected you to be His successor, if He even needed a successor at all. Certainly not _me_ , the—what? Goddess of Justice, or some other lofty title they called me?” She laughs, a little bit helplessly. “All I was in charge of was protection, Hubert. The grunt work.”

“You doubt the will He left behind for us, then?” He asks, pausing until he’s suitably satisfied by the conflict written in her expression. “While I appreciate the praise, you know I of all people will defer exclusively to the Deity’s judgement. He is the Forest’s founding gardener, after all; now all I can try to do is to prevent the last of His beloved garden from withering away.”

Then, in a quieter, more sincere tone of voice: “Also. You put yourself down too much, Chio. You say you only provide protection when protection is the main thing the people depend on us for. All things considered, it’s you and your men that act as the public face of the Forest—for an organization like ours, the civilians mostly see the peons, not the important higher-ups or the illusive back-sides.”

Chio swallows his words along with a sip of tea, lets it stew in her gut to diffuse in her blood and thoughts. What Hubert says—makes sense, even if she doesn’t want it to. Hubert always makes sense; she liked him for that back then, and he puts her at ease even now, when everything else is crumbling apart.

“I suppose you know why I’m visiting.” She smiles, as much as she usually smiles; one corner of her lips curled just the slightest bit upwards. “Like the Gardener that you are.”

Hubert laughs, quiet. It’s a nice laugh, a distinctive _hoo-hoo_ , like the cooing of an owl asking: who? Who? He slips a hand under the counter and draws out—a letter, gaudy in its golden gilding. A perfect crime love letter, immaculate in its forgery.

She knows she should have expected it, but it still surprises her all the same; Hubert has flowers everywhere, something like this must be a piece of cake for him to find out about and make a copy of.

“Little miss heiress of an up-and-coming industrial empire wants you to come to her party, it seems.” He makes a show of reading the fancy scrawl, though she presumes he knows its contents by heart by now. “You want to know how she’s gleaned the status of your abrupt promotion?”

“Got it in one.” Chio nods, impressed as always.

Hubert looks at her, _really_ looks at her, scrutinizing, that warm sunshine smile of his never fading even though something like overcast rainclouds pass over his eyes.

“Of course, Chairman,” he says at last, bowing his head in deference, “whatever you say. I’ll even throw in an extra gift afterwards, so long as you answer a question I have first.”

That—now, _that_ piques her interest. For as long as she’s known him and the nature of his work, Hubert has never been one to ask directly, not when there’s other, easier ways to get the information he wants. She cocks her head, neither acquiescing nor opposing, not verbally anyway, but the curious, slightly-impatient squint of her eyes gives her away.

“Chio,” he says, and the mention of her name and not her title throws her off-kilter even before he says his next words, “ _look closely_. Right now, am I bearing fruit?”

Her focus immediately goes to his throat, his collar, his chest, searching frantically for the sign of his allegiance, and finds none. The fruitlike necklace pendants that all Forest captains are required to don—that she herself keeps in a pocket, tucked close to her heart, a teardrop-shaped locket having taken its place― _Hubert isn’t wearing it_.

* * *

“Gardener.” Chio hisses, heart gripped with fear, unable to say his name. “Right now, am I being betrayed? Twice in a row?”

He looks at her with pity, steepling his fingers together. That damn sunshine smile still in place, unwavering.

“Oh, _Chio_ .” Hubert sighs, shaking his head. “You’re still so naïve, so trusting. How? You should know better by now.” Then, taking pity on her, he reaches out to take the teacup from her trembling fingers before she can drop it out of sheer shock. “However, I would not call this… _betrayal_. It’s merely in my best interest to resign from my post as the Forest’s spymaster, don’t you think? After all.”

Curling his thumb and forefinger into a familiar gesture, he holds it against his chest.

“Taking care of my garden is expensive work, and people would pay quite a lot for my bouquets. If I must work as a florist instead of a gardener to earn my keep, then that is how it is.”

Despite everything, Chio manages to force a smile. “That is how it is.”

Herb blinks slowly, all prim and proper. “I’m glad you understand. Would you like to confirm your suspicions, at the very least?”

At her tense nod, he retrieves another similar letter, unfolding it for her to read.

 _Money is the best lawyer in hell,_ it says with pretty, delicate handwriting, in lieu of a greeting. Then, _I know where your loyalty lies, man of many eyes. I would like to offer a bargain. Remove yourself from the chessboard and reveal to me the remaining pieces, or else I will burn the whole Forest down instead. Your call._

“You believe her?” Chio asks, gripping the paper almost tight enough to tear it in two.

“I believe her threat.” Hubert counters, coldly and logically. “Cream Industries is an economical juggernaut right now, Chio, and it’s only set to grow even bigger in the future! Believe me, _I had no other choice_. I care about the Forest, too, even if I can’t claim to be a part of it anymore.”

The way his voice cracks, right there at the end―it hurts her to hear. It _hurts_ because she doesn’t know whether to believe it or not, whether it’s the truth or just another lie.

“Fine.” Chio spits, steeling her heart. “ _Fine!_ Let’s say I believe you. What now? You leave us to work for Chika instead?”

“ _Neutral party_ , Chio. I intend to work as a neutral party. I sold you out to Chika, sure, but I can just as easily sell info about the Cream Family to you, _if_ you can pay the price.” Drumming his fingers on the countertop, he adds, “And don’t expect to get what you want immediately after you ask for it. Flowers need time to grow, and I have to rebuild my spy network from the ground-up after that whole fiasco. Figure out which flowers are still faithful, root out the rest of the rotten weeds.”

Amusement and anger swirls within her, volatile, a molotov cocktail of emotions ready to burst. “You’re starting to sound a lot like Him, Gardener. Aiming to become the new Millennium Deity, are we?”

Hubert shoots her a scandalized, disbelieving glare. “You know I would _never_ …!”

“I don’t know what I know anymore!” Her nails are beginning to dig into the meat of her palms, leaving pale red crescent moon marks. “Who’s a friend? Who’s an enemy? Who do I have left that I can trust?!”

* * *

Through blurry, stinging vision― _how long has she been crying for? how long has it been since she last cried?_ ―Chio feels a gentle hand slowly, carefully loosening her clenched fists.

“I apologize.” Hubert says, voice hoarse after their shouting match. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. There was simply no other way.”

“Sure, sure.” She mutters, pressing her face into her hands so that her words come out muffled and despondent. “At least I got what I came here for, I guess.”

“There’s still the extra gift I promised you, isn’t there?”

Before she can ask about or reject it, a slip of paper slides into her line of sight, folded in half to obscure its contents. With a defeated sigh, she flips open the note and reads it with listless eyes.

By the time she reaches the end, her brows are furrowed and her lower lip scraped raw from being bitten too hard.

“Gardener,” she asks, holding up the list of names, some familiar and some she’s never heard before, and four in particular that makes her heart race with apprehension, “what is this? Who are all these people and what do they have in common?”

Hubert shrugs. “Miss Chika’s list of invited guests for her party. Don’t know what she intends to do by inviting the Kumicho-shi of the Eastern Clans of all people to her birthday bash. Make of it what you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced in this chapter:
> 
>   * Hubert = Herb Cookie
> 

> 
> Art by me. Will probably try to do one every few chapters but we'll see how it goes, lol. Also watch me just casually make Vocaloid song references in this fic because haha I'm a nerd.


	9. Deep-Sea Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If that’s the person this song is written for, then…_
> 
> _With a deep breath, they sing with all their heart, eyes and emotions overflowing. The seashell pendant rests against their chest as the blood rushing in their ears echoes like roaring waves._

Summers in Oven City are always hot and humid, but on this day late in the season it’s practically unbearable. Whoever has the misfortune or idiocy to go around barefoot during this time would feel like they’re stepping on hot coals wherever they go.

Yet two fools are doing that right now, walking along the coast. Every so often they would shuffle over to the boundary of sand and sea and cool their reddened soles in the salty spray. Never for long, though.

Maybe it’s because they like the burning sensation. Maybe it’s something else. That’s only for them to know.

The peaceful silence marred only by the sound of the waves breaking against the shore is shattered when one of them opens their mouth to say, “So.”

“So.” The other replies.

They look up at each other’s faces, and then away. It’s a familiar song and dance by now, one they’ve repeated many times before.

This time, though. This time might be the last.

“Where will you go this time?”

“Who knows?” Answering a question with a question and a shrug.

The older one narrows his eyes. “You always know where you want to go, Kiki.”

Kiki sighs, a lost and desperate sound. “Not this time, Ross. I really don’t know.” And then he snorts, amused. “Thought I told you not to call me that.”

“Yeah, well.” Laughing, Ross crouches down and digs his toes into the sand. “You’re not gonna be around to stop me.”

“I guess not.”

The conversation lapses into silence again. No matter how many times it’s happened before, separating is always a painful thing.

After a while, it’s Kiki who speaks up first. “I’m gonna miss you, y’know.”

“Yeah, well.” Ross bites his lip before his next words can come out and break on his tongue. Glancing around, he picks out a seashell, one of countless many, squeezing his hand around it before holding it out to Kiki. “Here. Something to remind you of me.”

With a fond smile, Kiki accepts the spontaneous gift. It’s not all that remarkable, a nondescript conch shell save for the fact that it’s been bleached white by the sun. “I’ll treasure it, always.”

“That’s not enough.” Getting up to his feet, Ross grabs Kiki’s hand, the one that’s holding the shell, and guides it to his ear, pressing it close. “Hear that?”

He does hear it; an imitation of roaring waves made from the echo of blood rushing in his ears.

“When you hear the sea,” Ross chokes out, lower lip trembling, “think of me. We’re soulmates, you can’t forget that.”

“Soulmates.” Kiki repeats, hugging Ross close, brushing his hand through bleached hair. Just like the seashell, he thinks, eyes and emotions overflowing. “I won’t forget. I’ll come back, I always do. That’s a promise.”

The sun bears down on them both, hot and humid.

When summer vacation ends and the graduation ceremony is held, Kiki’s seat remains empty among the throng of the other celebrating students.

With all eyes on them, Ross’s band plays a valedictory song for the crowd, something lively and spirited in contrast with the hollow longing in his chest.

* * *

_unspoken emotions flowed out and melt away_

_and the next moment, you suddenly disappeared from view_

* * *

“Oh…” The young lead vocalist whimpers, both surprised and scared. “These lyrics… are you sure I can pull them off?”

“One hundred percent. I believe in you, Pippi.”

Looking up from the lyric sheets in their hands, Pippi blushes as Ross gives them a comforting pat on the head. There’s something distant in the way Ross stares at them, like he’s seeing someone else instead.

“You’re great at conveying emotions through your voice.” Ross continues, absently stroking Pippi’s hair.

“But… this song.” Ducking away from Ross’s hand, Pippi looks at him with questioning eyes. “It’s a different style from our usual songs. Why? Did you write it with someone on your mind?”

“Yeah, well.”

The way Ross’s gaze briefly darts to the seashell pendant around their neck doesn’t escape Pippi’s attention.

“Something like that.”

One of their band members calls for them, saying that they’ve finished preparing the recording room and that they can start now. With a nod, Ross takes Pippi’s hand in his own and walks over to the door, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

* * *

_deep fears fill her, and she frets_

_the shadows hide him, she’s all alone_

_reaching her limit, she stretches out her hand_

**“See, you too were hiding a wonderful colour.”**

* * *

The crowd goes wild when the music rises to a triumphant crescendo, everyone cheering as loudly as they can, hands outstretched towards the stage.

Flipping back their bangs with a jerk of their head, Pippi twists around just in time to see a look of hopeful wonder cross Ross’s face, turning back to the audience to finish the last verse of the song when a shock of green hair all the way in the back catches their eye.

Could it be?

If that’s the person this song is written for, then…

With a deep breath, they sing with all their heart, eyes and emotions overflowing. The seashell pendant rests against their chest as the blood rushing in their ears echoes like roaring waves.

* * *

_deep sea girl, her arm is caught_

_the marine snow sings a song of blessing_

_deep sea girl, she wants to know even more_

_for she’s found the person who captivates her heart_

* * *

Without caring for the eyes around them, Ross rushes into Kiki’s arms, holding him tight.

“You’re here.” He chokes out, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Kieran, you really came back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Laughing softly, Kiki tips Ross’s head up with a finger under his chin, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re soulmates, after all. I’m sorry it took me ten years to find you again.”

“That doesn’t matter, nothing else matters.” Ross sniffles, closing his eyes. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” And then, whispering so that only the two of them can hear: “Ross. I love you.”

Above them, the summer sun shines bright.

* * *

_leaving this sea,_

_now i’ll fly_

* * *

Watching them with a quiet smile, Pippi grips their seashell pendant tight with both hands, recalling a hazy memory of a lady with hair as dark as a moonless night.

* * *

_(“Here.” She had said, pressing a sun-bleached conch shell into their hands. “Take this, and keep it safe. It’s a treasured gift, so now you must make sure it finds its way back to whom it belongs.”)_

_(“How will I know who to give it back to?” They had asked, clutching the seashell tight to their chest.)_

_(“You will see.” She had replied, bowing her head. “Now, I too must find something I’m looking for, before I can reunite with the person I love.”)_

_(Sleep tugged at their eyelids. Before long, the world of Dreams drew them fully into its enticing embrace, leaving only the afterimage of stars in the sky, twinkling over a vast and endless seashore.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters introduced in this chapter:
> 
>   * Kiki / Kieran = Kiwi Cookie
>   * Ross = Rockstar Cookie
>   * Pippi = Peppermint Cookie
> 

> 
> Inspired by [a Len Kagamine cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wf0VA6JfGA) of the Hatsune Miku song by Yuuyu-P, [Deep-Sea Girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CwBFr-Eoxg).


End file.
